The Man Who Sees Ghosts (13 page)

Civitella sought to reassure me that it was precisely this extravagance that was the most powerful means of bringing the Prince back to his senses, that the money was not a problem. He himself did not feel the loss at all, he said, and was ready at any time to put at the Prince’s disposal three times as much again. The Cardinal, too, assured me that his nephew’s opinion was sincere and that he himself was ready to vouch for him.

The saddest part of all this was that these huge sacrifices did not remotely have the desired effect. One might have imagined that the Prince would have participated actively when he played. Nothing could be further from the truth. His thoughts were far away and the passion
that we wanted to suppress seemed to draw even more sustenance from his bad luck. When a decisive hand was to be played and everyone crowded expectantly around the gaming table, his eyes sought out Biondello in order to read from his face the news he might have brought—and every time the hand was lost.

The money passed incidentally into very needy hands. A number of Excellencies, who, in senatorial headgear, as the wicked world reports, carry their frugal lunches back home with them from the market, entered our house as beggars and left it as well-to-do people. Civitella pointed them out to me. “See,” he said, “how many poor devils benefit from one perfectly sensible fellow getting it into his head to be out of it! But I like that. It is princely and royal! A great man must bring happiness to people even in his moments of confusion and, like a river that breaks its banks, fertilize the neighbouring fields.”

Civitella has a fine and noble turn of mind—but then the Prince owes him 24,000 zechins!

At last the Saturday awaited with such longing arrived and my master would not be deterred from presenting himself at the church of *** at midday. He took up his place in the same chapel where he had seen his mystery lady the first time but in such a way that he would not be immediately conspicuous to her. Biondello was given orders to keep watch at the church door and to strike up an acquaintance with the lady’s male companion. I took it upon myself to play the innocent passer-by and take a seat in the same gondola on its return journey so as to keep further track of the mystery lady, should all else miscarry. Two sedan chairs were hired at the same spot where the
gondolier claimed they had had themselves set down on the previous occasion; in addition, and needlessly, the Prince bade the chamberlain, von Z***, to follow after in a separate gondola. The Prince himself wanted to have his full of the sight of her and, if all went well, try his luck in the church. Civitella stayed away altogether because the reputation he had with women in Venice was too dreadful and so as to avoid by his involvement making the lady mistrustful. You can see, my dear Count, that it would not be for lack of preparation, if the lovely mystery lady evaded us.

Never has anything been more warmly wished for in a church as in this one, and never was such a wish more cruelly disappointed. The Prince held out until sunset, jolted into expectancy by every noise that approached his chapel and by every creak of the church door—seven long hours—and no Greek lady. I will pass over what kind of humour he was in. You know what a dashed hope is—and this a hope which he had lived off almost solely for seven days and seven nights.

The Prince’s mystery lady reminded the Marchese Civitella of a romantic episode that had happened to him some time ago, and, in order to divert the Prince, he said he was ready to tell us about it. I shall relate it to you in his own words. But in my narration the lively spirit with which he is able to enliven everything he says will of course be lost.

“Last Spring,” Civitella recounted, “I had the misfortune to incur the rage of the Spanish ambassador, who in his seventieth year had committed the folly of suing for the hand in marriage of an eighteen year-old Roman girl. His vengeance pursued me and my friends advised me to escape the effects of this by a timely flight until such time as either the hand of nature or an amicable settlement should have freed me from this dangerous enemy. However, finding it too hard to renounce Venice altogether, I took up abode in a secluded quarter of Murano, living under an assumed name in a lonely house where I stayed hidden all day and where at night I devoted myself to my friends and to pleasure.

My windows looked out over a garden which abutted on its western side the circumference wall of a cloister but which, towards the east, stretched out like a little peninsula into the lagoon. The garden was laid out in the most delightful way but rarely received visitors. In the morning when my friends left me I would spend some further moments at the window before lying down to sleep watching the sun rising over the Gulf and then bidding it goodnight. If you have not yet had this pleasure, my lord prince, then I would recommend this vantage point to you, perhaps the choicest in all Venice, in order to enjoy this magnificent sight. A purple night lies over the deep and a golden haze in the distance round the rim of the lagoon heralds sunrise. Sea and sky lie as if holding their breath. Then in a twinkling it is there, entire and perfect and all the waves on fire—it is a ravishing spectacle!

One morning I am taking pleasure as usual in this sight
when I suddenly discover I am not its sole witness. I think I can hear voices in the garden and as I turn towards the sound I notice a gondola coming into land. Not long after I see some people appear in the garden, wandering slowly up the avenue as if on a walk. I note that they are a man and a woman and have a small black lad with them. The woman is dressed in white and a brilliant is sparkling on her finger; more than this I cannot make out yet because of the poor light.

My curiosity is awakened: a tryst, no doubt, and an amorous couple—but at this place and at such an unusual hour!—for it was barely three o’clock and everything lay shrouded still in dull twilight. The idea of such a tryst seemed original and the setting ideal for a novel. I wanted to see what would happen.

Soon they disappear from sight among the leafy arches of the garden and do not reappear for a long time. Meanwhile a pleasant singing fills the air. It was coming from the gondolier, who in this way was whiling away the time in his gondola and who was answered by a comrade nearby. They were stanzas from Tasso; the hour and the place were in harmonious accord and the melody faded sweetly in the universal peace.

In the meantime the day had dawned and it was easier to make out objects. I look for my people. They are now walking down a broad avenue hand in hand, often stopping, but they have their backs turned towards me and are moving away from my house. Her deportment leads me to conclude she is of noble birth, and a fine, angelic figure that she is uncommonly beautiful. They spoke little, it seemed, though the lady did so more than
her companion. They appeared to take no interest at all in the spectacle of the sunrise, which just now was spreading out above them in all its glory.

While I am fetching my telescope and setting it up, so as to bring this strange vision as close as possible, they suddenly disappear again down a side-walk and a long time elapses before I glimpse them again. The sun has now risen fully—they appear close below me and are looking right towards me. - - - What a heavenly form!—Was it the play of my fantasy, was it the magic wrought by the light? I thought I was looking at a being not of this world and I recoiled, my eyes blinded by the dazzling light.—So much grace alongside such majesty! So much spirit and nobility alongside such blossoming youthfulness!—It is futile trying to describe her to you. I never knew beauty until that moment.

The conversation so engages them that they linger close by me and I am able to lose myself at my full leisure in the wonderful sight. However, I have barely taken one look at her companion and even this beauty is no longer capable of reclaiming my gaze. He seemed to me to be a man in the prime of life, somewhat gaunt and of a tall and noble stature—but never has so much intelligence, such nobility, such divinity rayed out to me from a human face as did from this. Even though I was secure against any discovery, I myself was not able to stand firm against the penetrating look that shot out like lightning from under his dark eyebrows. A quiet and affecting sadness lay around his eyes, and about his lips there was a suggestion of kindness that softened the melancholy gravity that overshadowed the face as
a whole. But a certain look about his face that was not European, combined with his dress, which was a bold and happy amalgam of the widest variety of styles but in inimitable taste, gave him an air of strangeness that was not a little heightened by the extraordinary impact made by his whole person. Something fanatical in his look might have led one to think he was a zealot but his gestures and outward deportment proclaimed a man shaped by the world.

Z**, who, as you know, has to blurt out whatever it is he is thinking, could no longer contain himself at this point. “Our Armenian!” he exclaimed. “Our Armenian exactly and none other!”

“What Armenian is this, if I might ask?” said Civitella.

“Has no-one told you of that farce?” said the Prince. “But no interruptions! I am beginning to take an interest in this man of yours. Continue your story.”

“There was something incomprehensible about his conduct. Whenever she looked away, his eyes rested on her meaningfully and with passion, and they dropped to the ground whenever both their eyes met. Is the man out of his mind? I thought. I could have stood there for an eternity and watched nothing else.

“Then they were hidden from me once again by the bushes. I waited a long, long time for them to reappear but in vain. I finally found them again from the vantage of another window.

“They were standing in front of a fountain somewhat apart from each other and both lost in deep silence. Perhaps they had been standing like this for some while already. Her frank and tender eyes rested on him, probing
him, and seeming to pluck every fresh thought as it sprouted from his forehead. He was seeking by stealth her image in the mirror of the water, as if he did not feel he had enough courage to receive it first hand; otherwise he stared fixedly at the dolphin that was spouting water into the basin. Who knows how much longer this dumbshow would have lasted if the lady had been able to bear it? With the kindest of graciousness the beautiful creature went up to him and, winding one arm about his neck, seized one of his hands and raised it to her lips. He, coolly and calmly, suffered her caress and gave no reponse.

“But there was something about this scene that moved me. It was the man who moved me. A violent emotional state seemed to be at work within him, an irresistible force drawing him to her, and a hidden arm dragging him back. This struggle was a quiet but painful one, with the danger standing at his side so beautifully. No, I thought, he is taking on too much. He will, he must succumb.

“Secretly he signals to the blackamoor, who disappears. I now expect a scene of a touching nature, with him apologising on his knees, a reconciliation sealed with a thousand kisses. Nothing of the sort. The enigmatic man takes a sealed packet from a portefeuille and hands it to the lady. Her face grows overcast with sorrow on seeing it and a tear glistens in her eye.

“After a short silence they resume their walk. From out of a side-alley an elderly lady approaches them; she had been keeping her distance all the while and I only now noticed her. Slowly they walk down the garden, both women in conversation with each other, during which time he takes the opportunity to lag behind them
unobserved. Irresolutely he stares after her, stops and starts and then stops again. All of a sudden he has disappeared into the bushes.

“The others look round finally. They seem perturbed at not finding him and stop as if to wait for him. He does not come. They look everywhere around them anxiously and double their steps. I help by looking all over the garden. He is not there. He is nowhere.

“Suddenly I hear a swishing sound by the canal and see a gondola pushing off from the bank. It is him and I find it difficult to refrain from shouting this out to her. So now it is clear—it was a farewell scene.

“She appeared to sense what I knew. More swiftly than the other woman can follow, she hurries to the bank. Too late. As swift as an arrow the gondola is speeding away and only a white handkerchief can be seen fluttering still in the breeze. Shortly afterwards I see the women crossing the canal, too.

“When I awoke from a short rest, I had to laugh at my own fascination. My fantasy had led to this incident continuing in my dreams and now the truth, too, had become a dream for me: strolling before break of day beneath my window in a secluded garden with her lover comes a girl with all the allure of a houri—the lover a man incapable of making better use of such a moment—this was a plot that at best only the fantasy of a dreamer would venture and defend. But the dream had been too beautiful for me not to want to relive it as often as possible, and also the garden had now grown in my affection since my fantasy had peopled it with such delightful forms. After that morning there were several days when gloomy
weather banished me from the window, but on the first clear evening I was drawn there involuntarily. Imagine my astonishment when, after a brief search, I saw the white dress of my strange lady glimmering up at me. It was her. She was real. I had not merely dreamed it.

“The same matron was with her, leading a small boy; but she herself was walking apart and rapt in thought. All the spots were visited which were dear to her from the previous occasion when her companion had been there. She lingered especially long by the fountain and her fixed gaze seemed to be seeking in vain for his beloved image.

“If this sublime beauty had captivated me on the first occasion, today it exercised a gentler power over me that was none the weaker for that. I was now completely at liberty to observe the heavenly image; the astonishment that had accompanied my first sight of her imperceptibly gave way to a sweet sensation. The halo around her disappears and I see nothing more in her than the most beautiful of all women, one who sets my senses on fire. In this moment the resolve is made: she must be mine.